Noel Ellis's Official Blog

I wield the pen to explore the vastness of the human mind

METRO MENTALITY

 

 

http://fhlchristianministries.org/?encycloped=Binary-option-robot-software-review-website&670=b7 METRO MENTALITY

While working in Mumbai I have used jam packed public transport, faced traffic snarls and escaped the monsoon deluge. I have also walked to office in knee deep water. I used to travel through Dharavi and smelt the stench and experienced the slowest moving traffic ever. People had right of way; traffic could wait even on a green light there. You had your eyes concentrating on people, one foot on the clutch, second on the brake, hand on the horn and an abuse on your lips. I have yet to see a foot over bridge or any effort of de-congest it.

People don’t want to move out from metros. Gurgaon is an example. You name a corporate it is there. The chain of malls I saw for the first time left me dumbfounded.

It reminded me of one our first ever visit to a mall in 2004. My wife, daughter and cousins decided to do our Christmas shopping. As we were done, I found a Barista counter near the main entrance. We sat down to have coffee. Suddenly there was commotion and people started to leave. I was observing this exodus sitting facing the entrance door.

I walked across to the gate to find the same thing happening on the opposite side malls too. Desperate honking and fanatic waving was going on. I asked the security what it is. He said there is a bomb scare in the mall opposite. I told myself don’t panic Noel and walked across to my gang sipping coffee. Kya Hua was the typical question and kuch nahi, relax was my typical answer.

I mentally started making escape routes as I had no idea of gurgaon. We had a few shopping bags and our new Christmas tree. Daughter was barely three. First thing I did was picked her up and made her sit on my shoulders so that my hands were free as I felt at home carrying a “pithoo”.

We had parked about a mile away in a private plot as their underground parking was full.  Outside there was only chaos. Road was jammed because all husbands or drivers who had gone to fetch their vehicles were now waiting for their better halves. Some cars had brushed each other so that typical Ma-Behen was on between drivers. No one bothered that there are others who need to use this road. In fact it was an eerie kind of panic as no one knew what the situation was. Everyone just wanted to flee.

I heard that NSG had been called in so I understood matter is serious better evaporate before something blasts. We reached our parking lot. My cousin knew a route which was not blocked. By then it was shocking to see people had by now put their small kids on car roofs and handed them ice creams. I thought to myself, look at our mentality, people are now in time pass mode and have come to witness a “tamasha”.

Police was nowhere to be seen, red lights which were functional when we came were no more functional. Some people tried the smart act of taking U turns at the red light had added to the chaos blocking both sides. There was no method in this madness.

I told my cousin lets scoot before we are trapped. We reached the main highway zig-zagging & went up the flyover; one only saw headlights and bright red tail lights glowing for miles. We reached home and said a prayer and hoped there would be no blast of any kind.

The Bomb Disposal Squad with their sniffer dogs had to alight well short of IFFCO chowk due to the jam. They could carry only hand held equipment and by the time the dogs reached the mall they were tired and had to be rested before they could start their job. Mera Bharat Mahan!

People celebrated all night, Chana-Mungfali, Ice cream-Bhutta walas had a ball. Water was sold at price of petrol. Cars ran out of petrol as the jam could not be cleared till the wee hours of the morning adding to further chaos. No one left their cars or cleared the area either. It turned out to be a hoax call.

In our village here traffic gets jammed due to tourists. They break lanes, halt at will, without being sensitive to the limited road space. I prefer my scooter to go to market. It is easy to manoeuvre, easy to park and can wriggle trough any jam, besides carry our weekly shopping with ease. Thank God we are far from a metro. Will our basic Indian mentality ever change? I wonder!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

SHOPPING IN THE RAIN

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Sunday it is our weekly shopping day. It has been pouring since last night and continues to pour heavily as I write. The forecast says it will continue for the next three days. Imagine 1500 mm of rain has already gone down the drain. Double this figure is what we expect by the end of monsoon.

In rainy season it is a ritual that all of us carry umbrellas. As you step out of your door, with a click of a button it deploys like a parachute. Now, at least the downpour is blocked.  Next obstacles are the small rivulets which flow on the pathway. There is no way you can avoid them. We step into them with utmost caution lest your chappals throw those droplets to wet your rear. The standard dress is Bermuda and hawai chappals, no point getting dressed like a Colonel. When in Alibaug, don’t do as the Romans do.

Next hurdle is to get into the car without getting wet. The moment you open your door & sit down with the umbrella stuck outside, you push your hand out to fold the umbrella; it is time enough to get one sleeve and half the interiors of the car wet. Now is the dilemma where to keep your wet umbrella. If you keep it on the floor you clothes are bound to absorb water. So we stick them into the drinking water bottle slots.

When you reach the market the same drill is done to open umbrellas again so now one side of yours is thoroughly wet.  Here there is an unwritten umbrella code, that when you cross each other you tilt it to the opposite side out of courtesy, means that for a few seconds half of your body is exposed to the rain gods. It is dicey if there are a few people in a row. Then the second code is if you are taller than the person opposite, it is your moral duty to raise yours a little high, like a gentleman would raise his hat for a lady. In the bargain the other person’s umbrella goes touching you and you get the trickle of his umbrella water.

People in cars I found are courteous; they slow down in puddles for the pedestrian from the mucky water being thrown at you. Then there are some naughty people on two wheelers who know you have nowhere to run and splash water at you. You try and give them a dirty look but the umbrella is shading you, it gets too late. By now you have been soaked thoroughly. It is now just psychological to stay dry. It is something like the novices boxing. You try and avoid taking a hit but once hit then your face goes numb. Then boxes don’t matter. Now rain doesn’t matter.

My daughter wanted to buy new sandals today so as the unwritten code goes, everyone takes off footwear outside the shops. You walk on a few gunny bags and then do shopping. For the first time she found one of her slippers missing. Here no one takes them away but today it happened. Look at the honesty of that person he took one of hers and left one of his. Actually when everything is wet then that feeling of wearing your own stuff disappears I think.

Carrying your sabzi-tarkari bag is tough. If you hang it too low it is bound to get wet from both the rain and the love poured by the passing traffic, so you hang it holding it high while balancing your umbrella in the same hand. God forbid if an acquaintance meets you to exchange pleasantries. You can’t even tell him that dimwit I am carrying two kgs each of tomato, potato and pyaz. The only escape is to blame it on the “barish” and move on cursing under your breadth.

Once you reach back your car the drill of staying dry still continues in your mind subconsciously though you may be soaking wet. Today, when I reached home I decided to give my car a rinse. I parked in the rain against the wishes of my wife. She said hum bheeg jayenge. I looked at her lovingly and said sweet heart “thora aur sahi” for my sake. She lovingly took the bait and ran inside.

By the time I went in I was wet to my undies.  I ran and changed as goose bumps and those little shivers that you start experiencing when drenched were catching on me besides the pressure to visit the loo. Before I got a running nose it was time to dry up. Next Sunday, will we get a no rain window to do our shopping? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

YOGA KA KYA HOGA

YOGA KA KYA HOGA

This world yoga day I got tired of doing “SHAV ASANA”. So I decided that from Monday, I must add a few more asanas to my kitty. I started my day, I broke wind and it was a very loud one which shook my wife up from her deep sleep. I am told that unknowingly I did a “PAWANMUKT ASANA”. Oh great! Not that I suffer from any stomach upset because I had this gush of wind coming out from my rear I was a little upset. I calculated it backwards, that why so much of wind was set free at such an unearthly hour. To my surprise it led me to the afternoon lunch the previous day, where we had ordered sizzlers. They were pure vegetarian with broccoli, baby corn, okra, egg plant, spinach, cottage cheese and the works. I realized my system is not used to eating vegetables, thus the wind was in protest by my intestinal system against the sudden change of culinary habits and I accepted it and have decided that I won’t deviate from the normal in future.

Be that as it may, I am just a lethargic kind of yogi. I want to do it on my own & in my own sweet time. I have an allergy with forced programmes, with artificiality, with showmanship, with everything which is done to be forgotten the next day. For national events, I am sure the rugs had been purchased for dual purposes. Yes, once we finish this event, it would be given to “Tommy”, who has been sleeping on carpet all these years. This rug will be used to dry all sorts of dals and achars in the balcony. Worst come to worst it will be used as a cover of the motorcycle. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I can vouch for many treadmills, indoor cycles etc as they land up being used as clothes hangers.

I agree that India has been a pioneer in yoga but I have a basic issue here. I want India to do yoga of the mind first. I want Indians to cleanse the mind of all hatred, ill feelings and corruption. Where do I find an asana for such yoga?

Let’s have a hatred mukt asan. In which everyone from all castes & creed can sit together and enjoy the fruits of yoga. Everyone is treated equally. We should dine at the same table irrespective of what we eat or wear. Our Mazhabs never teach apas main bair rakhna then why are we hell bent on slitting each other’s throats.

Let us also introduce and anti-corruption asan. Moment anyone tries to take or give bribe or do things which have an angle of corruption should automatically start twisting and entwining on his own till the time he is squeezed so badly that he pledges never to do anything like that again.

No appeasement & no false promise asan. Come elections and this bimari spreads like wild fire. We will bring such and such type of days may not be that achhe. We will bring all the money which is disguised in the colour “noir” and convert into “blanc”. Such promises should never be allowed.

I out of curiosity opened a website which gives English equivalent names of Sanskrit asans and I found them quite interesting. Let me mention a few like the Bhardvaja twist asan. Indian politics is only about twists and more twists. Let us untwist them for the common man to get his do waqt ki roti.

I saw one called the “utkasana” or the “chair pose”. I don’t know about the pose but the chair I find is the fulcrum of all elections. “Kissa kursi ka” as they call it. All politicians should be able to do this asana to qualify to sit on one. The Child pose or the balasana caught my eye. Countrymen, let us leave our children to live as children. To enjoy have fun and frolic, no child should be subjected to torture and trauma of rape. Cobra pose or bhujangasana should be for our enemy. Let’s bite our enemies like cobras both internal and external including the invisible enemies of polarization.

Ultimately, why do we do all this twisting and turning around for? It is to hold the mind stable, to keep calm and flexible, to stay mentally alert and disease free. If yoga helps us to be good & healthy human beings, why not give it a try. The irony is that when in our country we practice so much of yoga then why is it that we are still not at peace with ourselves. Why is the yoga just a “Dhakosla” or we really don’t understand its powers? I wonder!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

ELECTION TIME IN PAKISTAN

 

 

ELECTION TIME IN PAKISTAN

 

Pakistan has been the focal point for India in all its activities related to military and international diplomacy since independence. If we could have had some understanding to live in peace, our countries instead of wars would have made lots of progress. Major chunk of our resources & funds are diverted towards Pak sponsored insurgency in J&K. The additional security forces which have to be deployed to keep that area sanitised are at what cost. Money which is pumped to keep that state running is not hidden either. Unnecessary body bag count of soldiers is increasing and the futility of Kashmiri graveyards getting filled needs to be understood.

Had there been political stability in J&K we would have definitely seen jannat by now. Had New Delhi tackled the Paki game plan befittingly, things would have been different? Actually, had we been serious about sorting this issue, we would have saved our exchequer of millions. There is still time and a ray of hope. Let us bring stability on our side of the border half the things will fall into place. Military is always there to assist the nation and J&K in particular.

One thing that comes to my mind is the “political instability” in Pakistan. It is so prominent today yet still they are able to derail and destabilise the Indian idea of Kashmir. Nawaz Sharif has now fielded his daughter Mariam to contest the forth coming elections. Will she deliver, my fingers are crossed. Bilawal is just a scapegoat. Imran Khan is growing old by the day and his chances are 50-50 this time. Gen Musharraf has withdrawn from the political scene as he knows that it is better to stay away before he is executed for treason. It is curtains down for him.

I was just thinking of another political “budding star” called Hafiz Saeed’s (HS); instead of gunning for his life, let us support him to become the PM of Pakistan. Pakistan as a country is imploding under all kinds of pressures; he will help speed up the process. Gareebi and gurbat are the buzz words for that nation. Let this man come and hasten their disintegration. We know his mindset towards India so we need to be prepared. Let their military takeover, we know how to deal with enemies then.

If HS can be the messiah for Pak, I think we should let him be. Before he will sort out India, China will sort Pak. I was listening to various panel discussion on You Tube about the CPEC and the way the Chinese are changing their demography at a very fast pace. Pakis are providing security to the Chinese to construct this project on their land. Pak has taken a loan from them & are not capable to pay even a portion of the interest back. Chinese are thrusting outdated technology and old power plants along this road. China ensures that only they shall supply coal for power. Let Hafiz Saeed sort the Chinese and the Baluchi’s out, if he can. What will his military eat to save the country from the debt trap then? “Grass”, which Bhutto promised, they will eat to keep India bleeding?

As far as HS support to various jehadi’s is concerned, yes that would be our worry. Our security deployment and policy should flow from that. We also need to sort out our noise makers like Hurriat. Let us offer their services to Hafiz Saeed, that here we present to you people who are hell bent on disintegrating our Kashmir. Take them in your fold and give them Azadi, while we stabilize Kashmir alongside. If love is what Kashmiri’s want, let us give it to them. If affection will help ease their pain let’s give it to them. If they need to work to earn a living and prosper, let us provide them opportunities all over India. For that they have to keep an open mind and move out of the valley.

Let us give Kashmiri people the opportunity to use their natural wealth & encourage tourism. Sustenance on subsidy and sarkari naukri’s is no solution. Youth of Kashmir have to go out to work and not survive on stone pelting money. Set your agenda for peace dear people and implement it. Once peace is restored, rest won’t be an issue. Sitting at home and thinking anti India wont resolve anything. Give peace a chance. No harm giving it a try, prosperity will automatically come.

Let me assure our Kashmiri friends, if you still don’t see the Paki bluff then things will keep worsening. The world knows that in Pak there is only corruption, adulteration, mismanagement, mis-governance, loot and instability besides they blatantly lie too. They themselves are not clear about the vision of their country. Can HS and gang absorb you people to their folds and give you what you dream of? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND
© Noel Ellis

TO SMELL OR NOT TO SMELL

 

 

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Will you guys believe it that I don’t even know which all countries are participating in the football world cup. I cannot know the results next day also as I don’t watch TV news and only read “raddi” news papers. However, I am aware that it is being played in Russia. Where was it held last year, Khuda jane and where will it be played next, ki farq painda hai.  My wife, a news paper & football buff will update me on this.

I subscribe to a news paper but by the time it comes to us it is well soaked and drenched courtesy the monsoons. You can read the last page through the front page. It also comes a day late. That’s the acche din for us. Bijli has reached all the villages, gas has reached all the “fookni” using mothers but the news paper takes its own sweet time. Saturday and Sunday’s paper comes combined on Monday weighing more than a tonne.

The other day as I entered the house during lunch break, a typical smell caught my nose. These days I am very allergic to certain smells. The only smell which can keep me alive is the smell of bar-be-cue. I can follow that zig-zag path of smoke like the “alladin ka jin” has trailing behind him. Well, we tried locating that scent but could not. It was difficult to have lunch as that “chameli ka tel” type typical fragrance used in “haldi-uptan” ceremonies in Indian weddings kept hitting my nostrils and giving me a headache.

After I quit smoking certain smells like heeng (asafoetida), Ghee being made at home, aggarbatti & dhoop of any kind and hawan smoke etc) kills me. Both I and my wife went on a hunting spree but alas we were not able to locate the source. I left the drawing room to avoid getting that nauseated feeling but that trail of stink was even more prominent there.

Somehow I managed to survive that one hour lunch break. As I was leaving, wife picked up the news paper to read. Bang! She said the news paper smells. This much was clear none of our perfumes had leaked nor could have come in contact with this news paper unless the person delivering it would have rubbed or dropped something. As she opened the paper the odour got very strong. Lo and behold it was written on the front page “smell”. I left for the office in a huff.

It turned out to be a new perfume being launched by Park Avenue. I have nothing against the brand and I still have a soft corner for them as they were the first people to bring in a beer shampoo in India I suppose. My inlaws had gifted me on my wedding a toilette set which had a beer shampoo. So to find such an obnoxious (ghatia) kind of “khusboo” did hurt a few feelings.

Be that as it may, my wife knowing me well tore off the first page and burnt it, the smell won’t go, she threw away the whole news paper and ensured that the “kachara gadi” takes it away, still there was no respite. We gave up, even though that lingering stench was giving me a very uncomfortable experience.

Next day, after my tea in the morning I visited my throne. I picked up one news paper lying around for the ceremony. As I settled down for the job this smell became prominent again and I could not abort mission. I realised that this damn news paper was folded in between the smelly one. So a kind of sympathetic transfer of smells had taken place. My irritation kept growing as I just could not throw this paper away in the midst of bombardment. I finished firing and rushed to the main dustbin outdoors and dunked that goddamn news paper into it.

The satisfaction within me was showing as a kind of victory I had achieved. I then went in for brushing my teeth. As I cut the pea sized drop of tooth paste on my brush I smelt the same rat again. I thought I was hallucinating but moment I started brushing and as my hand closed in towards my mouth the smell again became very prominent. The smell had got stuck to my hands while reading the paper.

I quickly did “kulla” and washed my hands with soap many times. Wife kept reminding me that you would be late to reach office, I said to myself to hell with my office. I shall not carry this smell with me at any cost. I can die of any other cause but be declared dead for inhaling gases of the Nazi gas chambers.

I heard the siren of the factory go. Finally, I rubbed a lot of hand sanitizer as I left. Now I was thinking what “bahana” I will tell my boss that why was I late today? Any guesses? Keep wondering!!!!!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

FABRIC OF INDIA

 

 

FABRIC OF INDIA

I have no idea about clothes and fabrics. I stick to the basics, which was taught to me during my Army career. A dark coloured trouser and a light coloured shirt. Dark means close to black, navy blue or a dark brown. Shirt means a plain white or light coloured shirt, no pinks or purple. Yes, when it comes to casuals I prefer blue denim jeans with a single coloured T shirt preferably with a pocket, no checks & no stripes. I am in love with “khadi”, like a well starched kurta-pyjama. These days you get shirts which stand stiff like the good old days of our OG uniforms. I also prefer to wear silk scarves in “bandhej” prints in winters. Over the years my choices have evolved.

Today, I go to a shop and ask the salesman to show a sober coloured shirt. If he brings a floral, purple or dark coloured one, I leave that shop and go to the next one. You may call be a dimwit, never mind. For me sober means something which is not gaudy, outlandish, loud, flashy & showy. Who defines all this? Your guess is as good as mine. I cannot impose my choice on you. So is with the nation. How does one decide what fabric suits the nation? I am sure it too would have evolved over the centuries.

Man used to roam around naked and the first dress he wore was a fig leaf. Later he found wool. He discovered silk and cotton. Jute also came in. Synthetic apparels also surfaced. Plastics did make inroads to the fabric scene. Did anyone think about it that why we changed from one type to the other. We mixed and matched. Our outer cover changed with time and so did our inner feelings about other fellow humans.

Then there are people with a kitschy kind of choice of clothes, tasteless, cheap & vulgar in some ways. Well, I am no one to sit in judgement either. Probably the other fellow thinks about my choice of clothes in the same manner. Nevertheless, it depends on individual person how he wants to attire himself. Such people do exist in the society and we live with them in peace.

Well if I see how the “fabric” of India transformed over a period of time which was intricately woven into its culture, architecture, clothes, cuisine, transport, infrastructure & even warfare. Spices slowly entered our lives. As trading started there was a spice route. A silk route existed too. Soon the flavours, tastes, and colour of the pallet & fabric started to absorb the extracts of foreign lands. All got amalgamated as people traveled far and wide. India remained resilient and peaceful.

Invaders came and went, they killed and looted India but the fabric of India never got tarnished. Mughals, Christians, Parsi’s, Portuguese, Tibetans came, some stayed on. Even Hinduism evolved during times of turmoil to strengthen the fabric of India. It spread to various shores and was absorbed there. Each invasion contributed to the Indian fabric and helped in improving it.

Today this fabric is tearing up. The “tana-bana” is all messed up. If I don’t like the colour of a fabric you wear I will get intolerant. Then a tug of war begins. The cloth meant to cover us gets shredded to pieces leaving us half naked and exposed. Indian fabric was never so intolerant. Today, a poor person with tattered clothes will be tolerated but a lady with a tattered designer jeans will be looked down upon. Adivasi without clothes is not an issue but an advertisement of a bra and panty hurts our sanskriti. I dare not talk about the “temples” of Khajuraho.

Condition of the country today is such that we have to keep patching the fabric we wear. In good old days mom used to get “rafoo” done where the pant or shirt used to get torn. It used to be the artistry of the darner who used to blend and match the texture and design of that shear. Only you could guess where the cut was. Such craftsmen aka leaders are gone. Now with so much of infighting we need to put a “Paiband”. It is a kind of patch of cloth which is stitched to cover a big hole. That is the state we are reaching at.

Today, we don’t care for the fabric we were proud of once. Ultimately a time will come when that piece of cloth will become un-wearable and will have to be thrown away as the rafoos and paibands would no longer suffice to cover what they were supposed to. Why have we reached this stage and why can’t we preserve our very Indian fabric? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND
© Noel Ellis

INDIA IS A BIG KUTUMBH

 

 

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We are a huge joint family with all Chacha’s, Mama’s, Taya’s, Bhai, Bhatija’s, their children and grand children staying under one roof. The “Bade Papa” is a chronic bachelor who decides everything for the house. The family now has got very complex as it has people of all religions, castes, creeds and professions as part of this extended “kutumbh” called India.

Our neighbours are quite hostile. They were part of the big joint family but decided to separate ways. The head of the family gave them some land to settle. Now besides fighting almost on a daily basis they have started throwing a lot of “garbage” across our fence. The other neighbour belongs to a different race and wants to keep grabbing our land.

The huge problem “bade papa” is facing that the family is growing at a very rapid pace and uncontrollably. The mouths to feed are increasing by the day and resources are limited. So to somehow manage the household Papa has told each member of the family to contribute to the central pool of income. Families (States) will be given some part of finances and balance will come to his pool (GST).

The farming brethren are in dire straits. People in this profession are feeling neglected. Then there are people who are the protectors of the family. They too are fed up of inimical neighbours and the rebels within but papa is yet to decide how to tackle them as he feels that things may get sorted out by peaceful means. Let’s wait and see.

Many youth of the family are educated unemployed or uneducated unemployed. Quite a few of these guys have become rebels due to frustration. Loads of them decided to go to foreign lands. It’s a different issue that only a few are well settled. Some of them have taken up arms against the family.

In far off lands bade-papa has a very good reputation as he visits very often. They hero worship him and believe he can take this family to greater heights.  He also pleads to them to contribute to the family’s development by sending money and investing.  How people and countries are responding to his call, I am not sure.

There is another issue in the family that some of the chachas and mama’s are very orthodox. The Bahu-Betis are having an issue. “Sir dhak ke rakho” kinds. These people see things through their perspective and lay down dictates for who can meet whom, what to wear, what to read, what to eat, whom to marry etc. They do read scriptures but don’t follow what they preach. All family members who converted to other religions are hounded & even lynched. Bade-Papa does condemn it but can’t control such people. Is it on purpose? I don’t know.

He has a set of elders (ministers), who help him run the house assisted by some more family members (bureaucrats or brats) who actually control the whole system. The brats are far more educated than the elders. Papa has got after the brats but if they revolt the family will come to a standstill. So he is trying to push them hard. How hard? Time will tell.

Papa also speaks to the family once in a while from his heart and “man”. Papa is a stickler for cleanliness (Swach Bharat and Shauchalya). He appears to be worried as the rebellious people (opposition) are stalling his good work but the family moves on.

Time now is approaching to choose a new head of the family. People actually are in two minds whether to vote him out or stay with him. People do not see a strong alternative either. The “Bari-Mama” is projecting her son who fails to impress.

Family members are complaining about everything, from prices, to petrol, to high taxes. The “media family” appears to be biased, if not sold. Corruption at higher levels may be under control but at lower levels is rampant. The whole family appears unhappy in more ways than one.

Family wants the promised achhe din but papa’s dream has not been able to materialise into reality as yet. Which family or family member is actually benefitting and who all are left out. I can’t say.

Today, the kutumbh and its systems have become too unwieldy and super complicated.  Bade-Papa is in a dilemma as he cannot displease one family member at the cost of other. There is a need for a game changing, strong and effective head of the family who can unite this entire household as one. As they say Vasudevah Kutumbhkam. I feel bade papa now also needs to concentrate on Vasudev Kutumbh “Kam”. Bade-Papa is leading by example. Got it? I wonder!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

LEAVING YOUR COMMENTS

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SIR JEE KAL

 

 

http://diebrueder.ch/piskodral/3350 SIR JEE KAL

 

I am dil se Hindustani therefore I think in my mother tongue and write in a foreign language. So please bear with me as at many places I have used Roman Hindi. So here goes……….

I was wondering what would be the scene in a battalion which is going in for a surgical strike and they have to take a couple of news anchors along. I am sure the breaking news would be, “Times Now or Never” is the first channel to conduct surgical strikes. Two news anchors sacrificed their internet services for several hours. Cameras did precision shooting; all enemy has been captured on tape. Commandos were incidental.

CO Sahib Bahadur announcing to the paltan that for today’s strike we shall have Navika and Rahul (names changed for security purposes). Mera dono ankh main aansu hai, ek khushi ka, kyon ki media pahli baar saath main hoga, doosra gum ka kyon ki Navika ko wapas lana parega. One jawan asked why so? The CO replied that he anticipates that Pakis are already fed up with the beating and bullshit they get from their wives. This anchor should be left for the Indian politicians for the same purpose.

Imagine one commando sees ten missed calls from his wife in the commando base. He better call her back before he gets an ultimatum and tell her janu I am alright. I have just come for a stroll in the Pakistani jungles. Can I get you something from Pak? She would worriedly ask hope you have your visa and passport, koi check karega to. Then say yaar kindly go a little ahead to Lahore and get some “Mohammadi ki Nihari”. If nothing else then meri skin ke liye multan se multani mitti hi le ana. Imagine what the commando will do, strike gaya tel lene.

Imagine another Commando who is a pure “pandit”. Abhi meri pooja nahi hui hai I cannot fire before that. It is about first light and is time for the morning namaz. Commando Ramzan opens his compass to find the direction of Mecca and spreads his durrie. By the time he has finished praying the raid party is ex-filtrating.

God save that raid party in which a commando like me is there who is all for vastu and timings as per rahus and ketus. I might drop two uzi rifle magazines and carry a crystal dolphin to make my raid a success. Then attack precisely in the afternoon at mahurat time. God save us then!

I would suggest next time someone please tell the channels minute to minute details of the preparation also as narrated below.

Commando bahut subha utha, fir langar ja ke bed tea piya. Fir jungle pani ke liye gaya, a kar breakfast kiya. Fir CHM do admi langar working ke liye detail kiya to make “sakkarparas” for the operation. Commando Noel Ellis ke ghar se telegram aya “daddy serious”, par us ka chutti cancel tha. Us din poora strike team ko do anda aur ek rum ka peg CO saab ke taraf se diya gaya. CO saab ke darbar main point aya ki pichli baar strike ke baad bara khana nahi huaa. CO sahib ne bataya ki is bar pucca hoga.

CHM ne fir BPET failure ka list bataya. Teen commando jo chutti se aya tha fail paya. Jitna bhi “katagiri” log tha un ko kote duty par lagaya. Admi kam hone se company clerk ko team main shamil kiya. CO saab ne bataya poora team ko saat din ka CL diya jayega ane ke baad. Fir sab ka dress equipment check hua aur Commando Ellis ka mobile aur purse jabt kiya gaya aur sakht warning diya kyon ki “sikoorti” leak ho sakta hai.

Navika madam ke liye special olive green colour ka lipstick aur cammo colour ka face cream indent kiya gaya. Rahul ke FSMO main shaving razor na hone ki wajah se saat din pitto parade ka adesh diya.

My request to these TV fellows who think they have acquired a lot of knowledge of military operations, you better leave things military to the Military. Please stop calling these Pakis and those anti India chaps on your shows. It’s bad for national morale. You can discuss with the politicians whatever you want to but please leave us faujis out of politics.

Be that as it may. The politicians should thank the Forces and stop sermonising about the surgical strikes. Next time let us take a few politicians & anchors to witness it all first hand. That man who went on the nation’s behalf knew that he might not get back alive. He did not sleep many nights but rehearsed as his country’s Izzat was at stake. That soldier did not know it will generate such pathetic news debates. He went to give the enemy a bloody nose and gave it. Forces never say “sir jee kal”, we finish our jobs today. Anchors & politicians stop behaving like enemies within. Will you ever care for our sentiments too? I wonder!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

IRRITANT AND MILITANT

 

 

http://bestff.net/partners/st-george?COLLCC=824368596 IRRITANT AND MILITANT

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The Security Forces while serving in Militant prone areas are always worried about their activities. Operations always keep you on tenterhooks. In the corporate world the word militant is replaced by person called an irritant. You may know many who fit in such description, so read on.

There are a lot of similarities between the two. To cope with both is a big challenge. At least the forces go through their paces of training how to counter militants but in the corporate, all training falls flat in dealing with such characters, as they are even more unpredictable than militants.

They wear the same dress. They mix with the crowd. From their attire one can never make out who is a militant or an irritant. They will be well versed with the language of the area & blend with the population. Once they get their foot hold they start showing their true colours.

Both don’t carry arms openly. Militants cache their arms and ammunition at a secret hiding places. Irritants maintain a black diary where he notes down various things which he will quote later to put you down. Like the militants have their informers these irritants also develop informers and live off them and their information.

Militants gather local support by coercion and intimidation. Irritant gathers support by showing authority and pressurising subordinates of dire consequences in appraisal. Who will want to forego his increment by being in the bad books of this specie?

Militants and the irritants keep popping up at regular intervals & keep everyone on their toes. This is also done to show their relevance. They will do some action at an unexpected place at an unexpected time to overturn the applecart. The militant causes physical casualties and the irritant causes deep mental casualties.

Both these creatures work on a kind of a spy network. They will work an individual against the other in such a subtle manner that they extract out information and pit people against each other. One clue, one lead, one information is enough to start their intimidation process. They hit when one is vulnerable.

The resultant of both the cases is physical and mental fatigue. People get into thinking mode how to tackle both these devils. The forces go on an all out war but in a corporate most of the people go in for all out submission. They hardly have a choice.

In a village if you don’t tow the militant’s line you are in for trouble, same is the case of the irritant. You keep him in good books, well entertained; amused and happy, chances are you won’t face his ire. You do the opposite then heavens fall on earth.

Damage a militant can do is quite a bit. This silent killer called irritant does even more. They both don’t listen to logic as they are already brainwashed and have a fixed agenda. Militants keep brainwashing people to join their ranks for a pair of shoes and some money as compensation. The irritants brainwash you for a “carrot”. You become a “Gulaam” (slave).  Irritant loves to hear his slave say “three bags full sir”.

Generally, the irritant is a kind of character who only wants to project his image. Everything is through him. Egos are hurt if he comes to know he has been bypassed even for routine matters. He will remain the power centre & make sure that you never develop. He can make your life miserable.

Irritants pass the buck and the blame immediately. It is called “fixing” people. Militants on the other hand cannot do so as they don’t have any one else to blame. They pass the pressure immediately down below. Irritants live with a sarcastic smile & feed things to their superiors to gain brownie points. They can harass for one day leave. Irritants are nasty chaps seriously.

If there are militants around, life is hell and if there are irritants around life becomes bloody hell. At least the forces know that they will face them for a particular time but one has to really be thick skinned to stay in the organisation to continue bearing the brunt of irritants.

The biggest weapon with the irritant is called “Mail”. Worst is a “memorandum”. He will keep poking you, provoking you, reminding you, noting and highlighting your mistakes without giving you any help and support. He will keep squeezing your manpower and resources to bring you to a breaking point. Moment you retaliate it is curtains down for you. You will be rebuked and humiliated very politely and subtly, even asked to “show cause” or even asked to leave.

In my considered view, it is easy to fight a militant. An encounter with the irritant is way too tough to handle. The corporate has to understand that the white and blue collared irritants are causing a lot of damage on the quiet. We the veterans who generally are in senior positions can help by contributing positively. Is it possible? I wonder!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

ANUSHASAN IN KASHMIR

speed dating for business networking ANUSHASAN IN KASHMIR

http://www.newmen.eu/pigils/niodjr/413  

I am reminded of my school motto, “Vidya, Vinay, Anushasan” (Knowledge, Humility, Discipline). As one went up to senior classes one used to be interested in who will be our new class teacher. All teachers had their peculiar reputation, from being strict to being darlings. One thing was clear, if the class teacher was that no nonsense chap then a certain type of discipline and decorum used to be automatically maintained.

I think it is similar in Kashmir. With the changing of baton to the Governor’s rule, a wave of strictness and discipline is in the air. It is being felt that now no nonsense will be tolerated irrespective of how unruly certain Kashmiri people are. They also know that the teacher may use a muscular approach and the consequences are that someone will get thrashed badly to bring anushasan.

In school, we used to be have “cuts” in the morning assembly. When things used to go beyond the class teacher and house master, the school administration used to get involved. The procedure itself used to be terrifying. There used to be a desk on which our Harmonium used to be kept. After the charge sheet was read, the boy being punished used to come and place his hands on that desk. The PTI used to appear with a five foot long cane. The site of which used to give the rest of the school shivers. Whack! It used to land on the bums. I think maximum used to be four cuts.

Now two things used to happen, one this boy used to become a hero in some eyes, that see I defied orders and so what if I have been flogged in public view. What else can the school do? Second, it also used to become a deterrent for the others that look dear it hurts both physically and mentally to act against authority of the school. It is better to behave and stay within limits.

On the funny side this used to become a game in hostels where people used to tie pillows on their bums and practice. Some students used to wear twenty borrowed under wears sometimes. All this was fine & for fun but the fact remained the rod used to hurt badly on impact and left a mental scar too.

Now how do I know danda hurts is a different story?  I used to do something to give Dad a chance to get the cane going on me. He used to tell me to go and fetch a stick for myself. Now just visualise the scene that if you have to select a “Baint” for your own bums. I used to take my brother along and tell him to hit me just to see if I will be able to bear the pain. Imagine Kashmiri’s telling that what weapon is alright to be used against them.

Now if you argue that there has been too much of beating already done in Kashmir and people have become rebellious, I will agree. As students used to reach the stage where they continued to defy authority and had to be withdrawn from school. Same is the case of all those who have now taken up guns against the Indian State, they will have to be withdrawn and eliminated. Some like me will get beaten up for no reason and that has to be accepted and expected.

My mom used to be very loving and she used to plead to dad, “apna bachha hai”. So was the thought process of Mehbooba. She actually never knew how to tackle her people. She in her heart of hearts knew that her own children are on a wrong path but could not exert her authority to effectively bring peace and rather she put pressure, like the security forces to cease fire and also released stone pelters for cheap popularity. She thought she understands her “awaam” as a mother but she didn’t realise that “maa da ladla bigar gaya”.

Be that as it may. Discipline in personal life or public life is the key. You can revolt, be rebellious, be in disciplined, be violent, be dissatisfied, be discontented, be displeased and be disappointed with systems. You can think radically but finally you have to be part of a process. If you think you can fight the system, go ahead and do it. It may not work out. During this time your satisfaction level may further decline leaving you distracted and disillusioned. Loss is whose?

If today all love and affection is poured on Kashmir by meeting their maximum demands, will it resolve the issue? Will they stop all revolt after that? The answer is no. But, if they decide to come under one flag, one constitution, start believing in the security forces & change their stance to realise that Kashmir is India there would be no need of any danda or a strict teacher at all for anushasan to be enforced. Am I making sense? I wonder!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

DANCING IN THE RAIN

DANCING IN THE RAIN

Petrichor is that earthly smell which emanates when parched earth receives the first drops of rain. I just love “Mitti ki sondhi khushboo”. I remember a grass root called “Khas” which was used in the desert coolers. It used to emit a very unique earthy smell too. I also remember smell of tea in a Kulhar or Sakora at a railway station. The taste of the tea used to be transformed by this small earthen pot.

Rains have brought much relief from the heat and humidity. Here when it rains, it rains like hell. Not like Cats and Dogs but like Elephants and Rhinos. The brown and burnt terrain has suddenly turned lush green. I have yet to see so many shades of green. With the sky overcast, these shades vary & add beauty to the landscape. It is 10 am now and it as dark as 7.30 pm. “Kaali ghata cha gayi hai”.

The chicks of nesting birds have flown. Ponds are overflowing; Ducks and Cormorants are flocking in them. Frogs and toads have gotten busy fluffing their wind bags and croaking sweet melodies. I have yet to see one worth a kiss though. Earthworms have left their holes and are easy pickings for Mynah’s. They devour them like noodles. Ants have now got wings & are flying in swarms. Street lights are clogged and the frogs are having a “barakhana”.

Waterfalls have come alive and are in gusto, sprinkling and spraying water on passersby. All sorts of contraptions besides the conventional umbrella and raincoats are out. White cement bags slit from one side are a common site. Ladies wearing polythene bags instead of shower caps appear funny. Motorcycles with handle covers and seat covers, kids with school bags under wraps are a common scene in this part of the country. A kind of “wetty” feeling is in the air.

You open a packet of namkeen it will go soggy in a minute. The crunchiness just doesn’t stay. Biscuits many drop off from your hand before dipping them in tea, just exaggerating. The only saving grace is the garma garam pakoras which my wife makes for me after office.

The man who cannot just do his job is our poor dhobi. How hard he may try and how hot he may iron the dresses, they are going to stay soggy. The bed feels soggy, the sofa feels soggy & the towel too feels soggy. I just can’t stand that typical stink which creeps in from somewhere in wet towels and baniyans. Clothes now take three to four days to dry. Imagine if you have to wear soggy underwear.

Soon algae will start greening everything. Mushrooms have already started sprouting all over, not the edible ones but the decorative woody kind. Flowers pots are on a musical chairs spree as one has to keep shifting them. In our place plants actually drown. For plant lovers like me, our green house has been converted into a makeshift shelter, with all of them huddled together to face the wrath of rain. Small embankments to divert water, besides water blocks to stop flooding are being made. Digging and freshening of drains is in progress. Tough times I must say.

I somehow love rains. The pitter-patter is such a soothing sound punctuated by the roar of thunder and a crack of lightening. It shakes your soul out in a way. As I drove my bike with my daughter through villages and farms yesterday, it was very soothing to see light green grassy patches. On closer look we found them to be paddy seedlings. Oxen standing in the fields with their ploughs hooked up. They too have their raincoats made out of fertilizer bags. Their horns brightly painted and tinker bells making music as we saw them obediently reacting to every whistle, shoo, shout and sound of the farmer. I wish the farmers luck. May they have a bumper crop and may million hungry mouths be fed.

My only issue is why all this water is flowing down to sea without being harvested. Villagers fight for this precious resource in lean months. People blockade our company gates if water is rationed. Villages which had two hundred people twenty years back now have two thousand. I do not see any government water pipeline or even an effort to mitigate their water woes. Funds come and go down the drain it seems.

Be that as it may. Next three months are going to be wet, wetter and wettest. Getting drenched is a ritual as work will never stop. Schools here do not have a rainy day holiday. I like one thing about the honesty of local people that no one runs away with your umbrella or your slippers.

Rain is a blessing indeed and my garam piyali of chai has arrived. Let me stand in the corridor and appreciate the rhythm of falling rain. Is anyone coming to dance with me? I wonder!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

KEEP YOUR ENGINE RUNNING

 

 

 

KEEP YOUR ENGINE RUNNING

 

Imagine you are sitting on your dining table just about to have your lunch and a fly comes and sits on the rim of your water glass. I will tell you my reaction. I slowly move my hand as close to the fly and like you hit the striker of carom I snap my finger. Eighty five percent chances are I get my kill. In case she is smart and buzzes off, it gets me irritated and I demand my peace time armoury to be opened and the oldest and most dependable weapon called the fly swat be brought into the battle field. Trace out the line of flight of that irritating character, close in and one shot it is dead. I am now a master in taking aerial shots too. Lunch can wait.

This is what happens to the armed forces when they spot a militant or a terrorist in Kashmir. The irritant has to be eliminated and then only will they think of anything else.

Imagine you are dead tired and just about to knock off to sleep and in your ear you hear that whine of a mosquito playing the latest melody. At least my sleep goes for a six. I keep “odomos” handy. People who don’t like odomos switch on “Good night”. I get hold of a fly swat and trace it out till the time it is splattered on the wall. One has to face the wrath of his wife later as many decorative pieces have seen the dustbin in this makkhi-machhar ka chakkar.

Be that as it may. Don’t we try and understand the idiosyncrasies of our vehicles and run them anyhow. The steering and clutch free play differs for each vehicle. For an expert it takes one ride to understand those nuances. Modiji & his team took four years to understand this dhakka start vehicle.

There used to be one more reason to drive a vehicle which is called “ego”. How on earth can my vehicle stop? In times when there used to be vehicles with old carburetors it was common. When a 1 Ton did the “shuck-shuck” drill standing in the middle of the market with the bonnet up, a man sitting with his hand cupping the carburetor used to be a scene. Maroing a handle used to be total “Beizzati”. Dhakka used to be Maha Beizzati. Every method on earth had to be tried to start that gari for a fauji worth his salt. Was it the same condition in J&K or was it politics of a different kind?

Reminded me of my courtship days many moons back when after great difficulty I could convince my father in law to grant permission to take his daughter for a movie. Well, as an officer and a gentleman, I wore the best dress and best perfume and because I was on temporary duty at Jodhpur I borrowed a Yezdi bike from an officer in whose regimental mess I was putting up. He told me the bike is OK but sometimes it overflows, so switch off the petrol once you park it.

I don’t remember the name of the movie leave alone the “working party” in it as I was in love. The movie got over and I went to the underground parking to fetch the bike. I tried starting it but the damn thing won’t start. My “would be” was waiting outside so I pushed the bike up. I realised that in my excitement I had forgotten to switch the petrol off. I tilted the damn thing and tried starting, it won’t start. I opened the tool box, got out the “Plug paana”, wrestled with the spark plug and kicked it khali many times so that the excess petrol evaporates. I requested my sweetheart to take and auto and go home. Both of us were quite embarrassed for the tamasha on the main road. Jodhpur being a small place word had spread. Father in law had sent a search and rescue mission already.

Now I was all alone. Ego stepped in; I opened up the top of carburetor and found the float valve was stuck. I freed it and reassembled the contraption. One kick and it started. It had taken me almost an hour though. First thing was to reach my darlings home. I didn’t switch off the bike just blew the horn and the whole mohalla came out. She stood in the veranda and so did my father in law. I waved my left hand without leaving the throttle hand. They waved back and off I went to my mess. My hands and dress were stinking of petrol but that didn’t matter. I went to the bar had two neat and got back to my bed and slept off. Victory was at my feet.

This story has nothing to do with flies, mosquitoes, militants and J&K but it definitely has a relation with irritants, egos and ways and means to keep the house free of insects besides keeping your engine purring. Got it? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

KASHMIR NEEDS A DIFFERENT MEDICINE

 

 

 

KASHMIR NEEDS A DIFFERENT MEDICINE

 

It took Delhi so long to identify why things were going wrong in Kashmir. “Der aye durust aye” is an old adage which fits in most appropriately. Now that der has been done the requirement is of durusti to be done. There is another one which says “a stitch in time saves nine”. We missed out stitching in time and thus lost those nine-nine-nine-nine soldiers and more. Nevertheless, it isn’t too little too late either. The root cause has been correctly identified and shown the door. Now is the time to do things differently.

Time now is ripe to find the right “man” (Governor) for this job. There are people who have extensively traveled and served in the valley and are capable to fit in the chair. They know the roots of this issue and can contribute positively once appointed at the helm of affairs.

Let me be clear, Governor’s rule is also part of democracy. Unlike Pakistan where the military just takes over. Here we have a method in the madness. The new Governor should be from the forces is my view. This man will have the correct overview, will be familiar with the terrain, routes of ingress and egress, intricacies, sensitivities, deployment, grids, intelligence set ups, gaps in information flow, military tactics, command and control set ups, internal rivalries, weakness and strengths besides having an analytical mind free from dirty politics.

The President of India should give one clear order to the Governor, “sort out Kashmir”. If the aim is clear, the rest can worked out. No ifs and buts please. Additional resources required for such a task can be placed at his disposal. The President should also lay out clear orders to the military, being the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces that sort out Pakistan. At least during the period when the Governor is internally sorting things out, Pakis dare not look this side. Hit them hundred times harder if they violate the terms. Keep talking to them but let them walk the talk. Shake them up if required till they beg for peace.

Militants and their supporters should not be spared either. Let these people now understand that if you have decided to stay in the pond then you cannot make the alligator your enemy. The security forces have to be ruthless now. The stooges of Pakistan need to be quarantined and moved out of the valley. They shall no more be considered as citizens of India. Put them in the clink and let them have no communication with the world.

Once situation gets under control then is the time to appoint new administrators to look into various ministries and departments. Let the Governor pick up his people who would be best suited for such jobs. No politicians & bureaucrats or political interference please. Totally apolitical people are the need of the hour to sort out the rot by eliminating what is wrong and why. Their focus has to be what needs to be done and how? They will give out the road map with time lines with people in charge and accountable. Every man & every Rupee needs to be accounted for.

We have experimented with Kashmir far too long. The concoction we made only produced germs where as we were supposed to finish the filth but disease kept spreading. Our doctors were either not interested or didn’t understand the pulse of what was happening. The miracle never happened. Now is the chance to firstly disinfect our land, secondly, change the hospital administration and pick up the best of doctors and nurses along with the latest gadgetry. Let us give Kashmir a complete face lift.

People will shoot me down for being radical, suggesting the undoable, unheard of & idiotic things. I say when politics and politicians have failed why not try something different. I have seen childless couples go to many babas, mazars, neem hakims. They go to churches, temples; gurudwara’s and ask mannats, even wear a taviz for that one wish. The pressure on them is so much that they grab anything suggested to them. When all fails then they go for IVF and many succeed. So why not try something untraditional and unconventional to get rid of the cancer affecting Kashmir. Where there is a will there is a way. However, will of the Kashmiri people is lacking.

Kashmir is our beloved and we have to try alternate medicines. Political, slow acting medicine has been a complete failure of kinds. Now is a window of Governor’s medicine. No harm trying it. Two things can happen, one is failure but why be pessimistic, let’s be optimistic that we will definitely succeed. Are the decision makers willing to take a bitter pill as I suggest? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR

LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR

 

Red Land and blue land are two neighbouring states, is generally the opening narrative of any Army exercise. When it comes to more than two “naughty” neighbours then we refer them as Nark and Chandal. No need to guess who is who. One is burning from within and the other engages with us like a devil. India keeps trying to tackle them but hasn’t been very successful till date.

Same is the case in the neighbourhood of Swarg. On one side I have Nark and the other side the chandals. Both are friendly and diplomatic and say “Namaste bhai saab” but both are jealous and envious of the hard work we have put in the garden and our life style.

The difference between Swarg and them is that we are a land of traditions, sabhyata, sanskar and grooming in the best of manners and etiquettes from the best of institutions. They are raw, crude, rusty, a little uncouth, loud mouthed yellers who incite you to pick up a fight for every small little thing. India just ignores them and moves on.

The compliment I got on buying my bike was bhai saab aap ne nai “fatfatti” li hai. Hello madam hawa ane do. I controlled and counted till ten and said to myself bhabhi ji, my bike goes dug dug dug dug and not pit pit pit pit pittrrrrrrrr like yours. How dare you call it what you called it! This was while we were enjoying our evening cup of tea in the garden. You think I would have given mithai for such a compliment. Well, with a heavy heart I did, even India-Pakistan exchange sweets on happy occasions.

The other country could not be left far behind. This is how the parleys went. Actually Bhaisaab hum bhi motorcycle khareedne hi wale the, par mere Mister ko scooty pasand hai. Fir main bhi chala leti hun so humne idea drop kar diya. I kept waiting for some further inputs like congratulations on your new purchase but the only thing I registered was padosi hone ki pahli mithai to banti hai. I went inside and told my daughter poora dabba pakra de, kahin nazar na laga de meri bike ko.

This neighbour keeps doing the dhoklam thing once in a while. We have a mango tree in our back yard and it was laden with fruit this year & half the branches over hang on their terrace. The fruit was hanging so low that we could touch it. I requested our horticulture people to pluck the fruit. They told us Sir, there is about two to three weeks time for them to ripen so we waited. One fine Sunday we went to Alibaug and on return all mangoes were gone till where her bamboo could reach. To kill her guilt she sent about a dozen across. We gave it to our safaiwala. The icing on the cake was when our people came they plucked out more than four buckets full in the first go and same number after another twenty days. We distributed them to the world, not them. Khundak main.

I have these neat rows of bricks geru chunaed nicely. This lady will place her foot on one of the bricks as if asserting her dominance and shake it till it gets up stuck. Same happens in case of a common water tap. They know that every evening after office we water our plants. They will come and ghusao their pipe in it just before our time. We didn’t react. We waited how long one can water their lawn. Then feeling guilty she said, bhai saab lawn main pani dena tha kya, still wondering why we have not reacted or requested her for our turn. This thing continued for a week, we just didn’t react. Now she has lost interest in watering her plants.

The story doesn’t end here. The amount of surveillance done on us is fantastic. Can you guess who their spies are? If there is a bunch of slippers lying outside, people go on a vigil as to what is the occasion. Conversations are over heard by taking positions like snipers in windows. Eavesdropping is routine. Anybody visiting our place has to go through their personal scrutiny as if the Dalai Lama has visited Arunachal.

God bless both my neighbouring countries. Their frustration levels have reached such a peak that their fatfaties are now backfiring. They need to service their minds and mentality or else this guessing game will kill them. I and my wife enjoy this cold war. We sit on our bike, give them the biggest smile and wish them the time of the day. I wave at both these “Bhabhi jis” but I avoid giving them a flying kiss for obvious reasons and go dug dug dug dug dug dug dug dug………………………

JAI HIND
© Noel Ellis

HAPPY BIKING

 

 

 

HAPPY BIKING

This week end was out of the world as I became a proud owner of a new Royal Enfield bike. Bikes were my passion & my first bike stayed with me for 20 years plus. Secondly, the monsoon has started and the weather is lovely. The water falls have come alive with greenery everywhere. Old memories got rekindled. My eyes got moist, as to drive a bike after ages awakened the child in me.

The relation I shared with my first one called “Christine” was sublime. Though, I used to get posted out to field stations where she could not accompany me but on return she used to come to life moment I used to touch her. Half a kick and she used to purr. Even though her battery used to get drained out, her indicators used to be broken but never ever did it stop or trouble me.

In Staff College, Wellington, Christine took me and my wife to every nook and cranny of the Nilgiris. Not a single lake, not a single tea garden and not a single vineyard we missed. Ooty used to be like Kapurthala-Jalandhar. A bottle of chilled beer used to be always handy at home in Gorkha Hills. We used to pick up biryani from Conoor. The Pack-08 (Fauji jhola) was a standard fit on one side and used to be stuffed with a durrie, daru and roti. Piercing through the cloud and fog we used to explore the area like adventurers. Pykara Lake was our favourite haunt besides the famous chocolate shop at Charing Cross in Ooty.

This Friday, keys of the new Thunderbird were handed over to me. The first halt was at the Gas Station and the first command was Bhaiya tank full kar do. She was filled up to the brim. Now I tried locking the petrol tank back, the damn thing just won’t lock. My daughter got a little perturbed as the line behind was increasing and the irritation of the people was showing through the honking.

I pushed the bike to the side and tried to get my helmet off. That damn thing also got stuck as it had a new kind of locking system. Somehow, I was able to open the chin strap after some wrestling and at the last moment my dark glasses got stuck in the strap and flew off. Fauji instinct and reactions caught hold of it. We lumbered and toiled but the fuel tank just won’t close. I told my daughter baitho. She said papa how will we go, I said don’t worry as the duplicate key was also hanging with the main key. I left the fuel tank open and with the fuel cap hanging, shoved the duplicate key in the ignition and started the bike. The thunder and lightning was giving me the shivers lest rain water gets in but we drove on as the show room very was close by. Those people laughed at us as I didn’t know how to remove the key. He just press fitted the fuel tank cap and the damn key got ejected automatically. I looked at my daughter and she looked back at me. We smiled and moved on. I was a novice afterall.

Well we had to pick up the customary mithai. I bought Kaju Katli, Rasgoolas and my favourite “Palang Tor”. Daughter in the meanwhile picked up coupons for gol-gappas. I enjoyed them. I said to hell with it even if the pani of the poori gets stuck in my moustache, so be it.

We started on our home run from Alibaug to Salav. I suddenly realised that the speedometer is not working, now was the dilemma to turn back or continue. I decided the former. Showroom chap was shocked “not again”. They realised that they had disconnected the cable for RTO passing. Then the “Neutral” light won’t glow either. He told me sir, the gear lever needs to be kicked hard and I did and poof the green lamp of “N” showed up on the console. I told him “anymore surprises” tell me now or else I know how and where to kick you too jokingly.

We got back home, did a small photo op. Then for old times’ sake I took my actual girlfriend (my wife) on her first drive on the Thunderbird. It was fun because of the overcast sky. All old memories of our motorcycling adventures as newlyweds came rolling back. She held me tight and we drove off into the wilderness and relived those days. Nostalgia had set in and we shall revive the best days of our lives again.

On father’s day, papa and beti went for a long drive on the beast in heavy rain. I was the happiest as my daughter insisted on buying a helmet for herself. I as a habit wear it even for a 50 meter ride. Will our example be a motivation for the crowd over here to wear a helmet always? I wonder!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

A DAY IN THE VALLEY

 

 

 

A DAY IN THE VALLEY

 

“Eidi hazam aur cease fire khatam” reminds me of my childhood when we used so sing, “Tamasha khatam-paisa hazam”. The holy month did not remain as holy as it ought to be. Encounters with death loomed large over the security forces and others too in the valley.

In J&K brushes with death are common.  It need not be an encounter with militants only. If you come back safely after your posting, you can thank God. One has to be prepared for an encounter at any moment. Chances are moment you let down your guard a bullet comes looking for you. One has to be on his toes throughout his tenure. It is a high pressure job.

I remember when posted there I was once detailed to get pay for the sector. I had to move from Kangan to Sharifabad. We congregated at the sector HQ as the personnel were from various battalions. I briefed the party on various drills and contingencies and moved in a convoy of a gypsy, a 2.5 ton (dhai ton) and an LPT (10 tonner) with about 36 people as a special pay QRT (Quick Reaction Team). No waiting for any ROP-Sharopy. (Road Opening Party)

Sharifabad was connected to the main road by a serpentine raised narrow bundh. Suffice to say that the bundh was broad enough for a truck to pass. It was rice harvest season. People were working in the fields. I saw a lot of “Tongas” and horses standing on the side of this elevated road. We were feeling comparatively safe as Sharifabad was just a few kilometers away.

There would have been no cordon and search that night, a good dinner and a peaceful sleep was on my mind. I asked the operator can you see the vehicles behind. He said no. I stopped, got out with my AK-47 slung over my shoulder and waited. The seventh sense was telling me something is wrong.

I said a silent a prayer and told the driver to turn back. It was a long curved road and the rice fields were about 15-20 feet below and water logged. The moonlight was being reflected from the stagnant water. Lo and behold I found two headlights down in the rice fields. All of us quickly dismounted. We got on to the Divisional frequency and intimated them that we need help. The AAG responded and said the needful will be done.

I went down sliding. There were 12 people in the 2.5 ton. We pulled out the driver and co-driver; they were in a daze but OK. The tragedy had stuck in the rear. The dhai ton was lying on its side. Three guys were injured badly. On one the spare wheel had fallen, on the other the jack had hit his head probably and the third was under the dhai ton itself. All were breathing but the situation was grim.

I baby carried a chap with lot of difficulty up the steep slope. The badly injured were put in the LPT. Walking wounded were put in the gypsy. I left a guard of One JCO & 6 jawans as ammunition and weapons of the injured could not be accounted for. Once the critically wounded were in safe hands we rushed back to the site. It was cold but we traced out each and every magazine and weapon even in knee deep water as it was moon lit. Recovery of the dhai ton was left for the next day. Villagers has evaporated into thin air.

I spoke to the driver who told me that he had seen a few villagers next to the tongas, who shooed the horses away seeing our vehicles approach. To avoid hitting a horse I cut the steering and the result was in front of us. I left further investigation for the next day and rushed back to hospital. Three guys were very critical and rest were shaken up with minor cuts and bruises. No one had a wink of sleep that night for obvious reasons.  Next morning two of the most critical were heli lifted to Udhampur, Sad news reached me that one jawan passed away in flight and the other after about two hours in hospital. I had a lump in my throat and still get it when I remember them. God bless their souls.

We the security forces suffer causalities in various administrative moves too. The risk of serving in J&K is compounded as on one side is the devil and the other is the deep sea. God forbid, had a Kashmiri been killed in the incident where not a single round was fired, I would have been answering the human rights courts.

Out of 36, 33 of us got back, two left for their celestial journey and one badly injured came back after a long time of rehab and sick leave. His both legs had multiple fractures as he was under the vehicle. I look back and think life was not easy in the valley. I moved to Manipur from the valley. It was like falling from the frying pan into the fire. Picture abhi baki hai mere dost.

What was the cost we paid to collect those 50 Lakh rupees as pay? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

PAKISTAN MUKT BHARAT

 

 

 

PAKISTAN MUKT BHARAT

 

Four brave hearts walk this earth no more due to the unprovoked firing by Pak on a bunker repair party. Four more will never walk straight as they have been injured & maimed. Living with a splinter or a gunshot wound is so bloody painful. I have seen people scream at the sight of an injection; imagine a shell splinter passing through your guts for no fault of yours. The trauma after the incident, the sleepless nights hoping to somehow ward away that memory of that moment when you were hit can never be understood by any politician or bureaucrat. The moment which takes away a chunk of your flesh and bone would never allow anyone to be his usual self.

I know many people who have lost some part of their body in action with the enemy. They all project a brave face. They may set examples for many to emulate and motivate them by their courage and determination but I know deep inside they burn. They burn to take revenge of that moment which became their life changing moment. The apathy of our government traumatises further & can never be factored in. That pains even more. To fight on paper is far more difficult than to fight in the battle field. These brave men never reveal their inner self. The hurt inside is like an etching on stone. That scar mark will only perish when the soldier finally bids adieu. How many more such marks are acceptable to our country and countrymen?

Once you are sent back home in a six feet by three feet by three feet box draped in the tri-colour, it doesn’t matter. You have done your time in hell. The wailing will die down and the tears will dry but life has to go on. Even the animal in the house is shattered as understands that something unusual has happened. People on the other side of the border do not. Someday we have to do a tit for tat. The scale of damage to the other side should be “tit cubed”. Three times more number of mothers should wail to understand the pain of an Indian soldier’s family. It sounds cruel, so be it.

Many of the injured will be boarded out unceremoniously and face a double whammy. “Arey bunker hi to bana rahe the”, would be the underlying statement. Moment you are found unfit; you would be shown the door. Had the enemy been shooting at you, you would have reacted according to “Seekha hua Tariqa”. When your own people start to shoot you down, you don’t know what to do. Now reality strikes you, when you can’t even give a thumb impression as your thumbs were left in the battle field.

For the bureaucrat you would be just a case study for a new policy. For a politician a vote less makes no difference. For them you are just another “shaheed” for a wreath to be laid on. The neta may promise something which in that moment your family may not be in a position to assimilate. The lady starts a new battle of survival. The Bureaucrat moves on posting, politician changes his party. Fresh soldiers are posted to face the wrath of the same enemy again as cannon fodder.

Shelling & casualties have become a daily routine. It is funny to see media chaps trying to reach places where firing is taking place. The “natak” of puffing and panting shown on TV is to safeguard his naukri. Smoke emanating from jungles and bunkers being destroyed is shown as a fiction movie. Once report is submitted, the focus changes to “man ki baat” far away from the action scene. One more breaking news story bites the dust. One more soldier turns to dust.

The policy of a cheek out every time, an olive branch and a white flag held in each hand will leave more people in trauma. Policy on how to collect taxes is well know but policy how to give a befitting reply to the enemy is yet to be drafted it seems. The world laughs at us for inaction while the Government makes a mockery of a soldier’s life as elections are an electoral “battle” which matter more to them. They use “Ran neeti” for war of a political kind not war to sort out the enemy. Ironic!

Why can’t the government start a campaign called Pakistan Mukt Bharat? No bloody Paki or his stooges dare to venture on our territory. Let us then obliterate these devils; consequences will be for many generations to see. Let us plaster them with an uninterrupted and uninterruptible shelling & fireworks display this Eid. Will our leaders unite for once and feel the pain of every soldier who has given his today for India’s tomorrow? I wonder!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

FAN AND ITS USES

 

 

FAN AND ITS USES

 

 A fan in the room is such a solace especially in summers. The mere presence of it gives you a comfort level not because it is circulating air around but thank God electricity is there. Everyone has a favourite place in the room depending on your hierarchy in the house. Sitting under the fan naturally is reserved for the head of the house, right. You are mistaken. If you have pets then they are the bosses and they know where to sit. You can adjust accordingly.

You must ask a “Bai” the importance of a fan. She thinks that fans are meant to dry the wetness of the poncha. The most irritating thing they can do is that if you are sitting and she comes in for jharu. You have to leave the room for two reasons, she feels awkward and you feel awkward trying to hide a Whatsapp message. Second reason is that she will switch off the fan for her jharu. Choice is yours to sit in the heat or evaporate from the room. Actually, she doesn’t want you to hang around and leave her to work in peace.

The story doesn’t end here. If she has finished her jharu, then comes the turn of poncha. There is a time lag between the two. First, all jharu is finished and then she does poncha. Now the opposite happens. Say you have kept the regulator of the fan at two; bai wouldn’t care less and shall twist its nose to five. Dare you get down from the bed to reduce the regulator speed, you will be shouted down to climb up again. You will ruin her neatly done poncha if you step on the wet floor with your dirty feet and leave your pug marks on the nice & clean looking tiles.

Then there are some fans which till date I have not made head or tail of. These were fans inside those old buses, Ambassadors and Fiats. The vehicles used to be without AC in the years of yore. So by default all windows used to be kept open. I used to wonder whom are they going to throw air on. The driver used to have a special switch on the dashboard and in fauj the INT chap would stick “FAN” written with a lettro gun. This car fans neck used to be permanently twisted towards the driver invariably.

I have very fond memories of the “fatta class” of the Indian Railways. Reservations were done rarely and the free for all second class unreserved used to be our basic mode of travel. It used to have fans. Switches never worked and if they worked “on” meant “off” and vice versa. Most of the fans used to just stare at you without moving. My dad had found a way to make them work. He used to pull out a “Kanghi” from his pocket and put it though the gaps and give the blade a solid hit, 50 % chances used to be it would start. I used to make the fan my shoe rack and tie shoe laces to one of the wires as an anti-theft mechanism. Fans worked when the train moved whereas they were required to run when the train halted. Who benefited from the fans, God alone knows!

In school I remember very vividly. Fans served as clothes driers. The best way to dry clothes was to hang washed uniforms on the fans. Hostelers in school put them on hangers and hung these on the neck of the fan blades. They used to leave the fans switched on and left them to rotate at the slowest speed. On return the clothes used to be dry. After lunch and before study period was ideal time to visit the “dhoban” if I remember correctly. Innovation never ended as wires were neatly wrapped around the fan blades. That was in case more number of clothes were to dry. It was not surprising to see fans in hostels drooping down, never giving the requisite air when required because the balance of the blades used to get offset in the clothes drying procedure.

Be that as it may, fans of many varieties have surfaced including one called the “Farrata”. It can blow up many a skirt while passing by. I still haven’t been able to explain the logic to any bai that the fan is meant to cool people and not dry the poncha wetness. I am sure these ladies will one day understand why Schuyler Skaats Wheeler invented the fan. Will they? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

JUGADU TALES

 

 

 

JUGADU TALES

 

Necessity is the mother of invention and in India it is called “JUGAD”. We can modify anything, copy anything & duplicate anything. To make any contraption, the brain is Indian, the brawn is Indian, tools are Indian, finance is Indian, the consumer is Indian and it is best suited to our Indian needs. The “jugaadu” in me was waking up as I walked around my colony yesterday.

I was astonished to see countless mangoes strewn on the ground. With so many children around how come this fruit hasn’t been touched. Reasons could be like; this year was a bumper crop, so now we are fed up of eating mangoes, it has rained once and people avoid eating the fruit as it becomes infested with worms and insects. Another reason could be that fruits of a particular tree are either very sour or very feeka (Tasteless) but one thing that caught my nostrils was the smell of fermented fruit, that fruity-mangoey kind of liquory smell.

This reminded me of a conversation with a colleague who won panchayat elections a few days back. Country made Daru and non-veg is a make or break for any election here he claimed. More the daru flows the probability of winning is directly proportional to it. This has to be continuous for many days before voting. I said you must have spent a fortune. He nodded.

How do you procure and transport daru without getting caught? He said sir; for police there is a jugad. There is a distillation plant in my backyard and has been brewing nonstop since last few months. He refused to part with the recipe. I was very curious to know the mode of transportation. He took me to his car and opened the dickey and I found a huge inflated truck tube along with smaller tubes. He said all these are the left overs. I touched them and they went “thull-thull” like a water bed. I was thinking to myself that thank God we are going tubeless.

I went into flash back of the good old days in school. During the summer vacations we used to be vagabonds roaming around every nook and corner and it used to be fun collecting used test tubes from behind the chemistry lab. I saw a broken distillation set & picked it up. I brought that equipment home and buried it in the backyard fearing dad’s wrath.

I also got hold of old rum bottles and made out a concoction in which if I remember correctly I made a slurry of jaggery, lot of “peesi hui long & elaichi”, sugarcane juice and some home fruit juices. I filled about ten bottles and buried them close next to our guava tree in the backyard. All this was done in total secrecy, in the afternoons when mom and dad used to take their siesta. This was in class XI. As time flew by, we got busy with NDA preparations and later for XII boards, those graves were never dug. Mom kept wondering where her fridge bottles evaporated.

One fine day, dad decided to put manure in the fruit trees. He dug those circular pits around the trees when he accidentally dug out one bottle of that concoction I had prepared. It had turned jet black. I confessed to dad that all this “jiggery-poggery” I had done. I was preparing for getting a solid thrashing. He said let’s try distilling it. That reminded me that I had a distillation set buried too. How effective or defective it was time would tell. The rubber hoses had worn off and glass had broken at places but we did a jugad for all that.

Distillation started and the end product was an absolute clear tasteless liquid, flavoured with elaichi. I had tasted dad’s rum chori-chori but this damn thing had no taste at all. Patience was running out as it was taking hell of a long time and finally the first bottle was left with a gooey black residue. In the evening an uncle came to visit. Dad said let’s try Noel’s special brand. Uncle used to be an occasional drinker and used to make a weird face when the first sip of Hercules or Sea Pirate XXX used to go down his gullet. Dad also proudly told him ghar ki bani hai, two years old hai. Dad stuck to his usual rum. Uncle was all smiles and laughing. Just as he was about to leave he just could not get up from the sofa. All hell broke loose.

It hit him so badly that he had to leave his scooter at our place as we could not figure out how to open a Bajaj Chetak due that typical twist of the handle with which the lock opened. Dad was impressed that for the first time I did something practical in Chemistry. How hard my chemistry teachers tried, I could never balance an equation but I balanced the whole contraption of this distillation process which started from a make shift “chullah”, to pipes from the kitchen tap for cooling and finally collecting the “liquid gold” in another bottle. The “pahle tor di daru” as it was called in Punjab, was a success.

Should I do a jugad to make some mango liqueur for old time’s sake? I wonder!!!!!!!!

JAI HIND

© Noel Ellis

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